


A Slice of Life #4

by kinfic2



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Jealous Brian, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2014-12-27
Packaged: 2018-03-03 21:46:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2889032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinfic2/pseuds/kinfic2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Don't let the devil drag you under.<br/>Takes place between episodes 206 and 213</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Slice of Life #4

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my LJ in 2009

JUSTIN'S POV:  
  
“Brian, what the fuck is your problem?” I couldn’t believe we were back at the fucking loft, on a fucking Friday night, so fucking early!  
  
“I don’t have a problem. I’m a problem-free zone.”  
  
“You _do_ have a problem. You are _not_ a problem-free zone and you're a fucking asshole!” It was okay for him to fuck everything with a heartbeat, but I couldn’t even dance? I was having a great time, too. God, the guy was so hot, rubbing his cock against me and _—_ Lord and Master Kinney had to spoil it. When did I become his property? He drives me crazy. Bossy bastard!  
  
“Sticks and stones. Yada yada.”  
  
Itching with anger, I seriously wanted to strangle him but settled for grabbing clumps of my hair instead. “I was only fucking dancing!”  
  
I fought the urge to yell that he was a fucking sack of shit and counted to ten. Past experience taught me that emotion with Brian skyrockets the situation into “Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?” territory. The evening would end like so many others. He’d either storm out for a medicinal fuck, drown his sorrows in the nearest bottle, or both. Me? I’d wind up on the couch or at Daphne’s, wondering why I bother. It was a no-win situation.  
  
“Is that what you call it?” The sarcasm dripped from his lips like honey. “Looked more like ‘fuck dancing’ to me.”  
  
I didn’t have a fucking clue how to respond to his insanity. Whether due to liquor, drugs, or whatever fucking weirdness is in his brain at the time, it's impossible to reason with him when he's like this. “Jesus Christ! I can’t believe we’re having this conversation!”  
  
“That makes two of us.” He refilled his glass and took a healthy swallow, glaring at me over the rim.   
  
I ignored the hazel-eyed warning to back off and tried a different approach. I softened my tone. “Brian, honestly I—” How the fuck did this happen? Why was I at fault when it was the other way around?   
  
While I struggled to find the words, there was a brief moment of total silence, the kind that prickles your skin and makes you hold your breath because you’re not sure what’s going to happen. But you know something will. The glass flew out of his hands like a torpedo without a target, scattering crystal shards around the room. As I bolted out of the peripheral line of fire, I had the weird feeling all of them were aimed indirectly at me—and directly at himself.  
  
“What's the matter, Sunshine? Can't take the heat?” He uttered the question with perverse satisfaction and damn if I didn't notice that fucking eyebrow arch.  
  
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I wanted to smack his lecherous smirk away, but I had a bigger problem. I was too busy trying to will the flame on my face and in my cock to cool down. I didn't understand the rules of whatever-the-fuck game he was playing. And it was a game, right?  
  
_“I think I can see in your face, there’s a lot you can teach me._  
_So I wanna know what’s the name of the game?”_ _©Andersson,Ulvaeous_  
  
I was also uneasy. The mirthless taunt revived a pesky thought that had been circling in secret corners of my brain for a while. Why was I so fucking turned on when Brian acted like this? It shouldn’t be normal. It wasn’t normal. Was it?  
  
BRIAN'S POV:  
  
Who the fuck does he think he is? How very typical to pull the wounded act, to play the ‘I’m so misunderstood card,’ to shift the blame and make it my fault. He’s an expert at guilting me.  
  
He should be glad I haven't thrown him out on the street. I’m not that heartless, although most of my so-called friends and family would disagree. I know he has no place else to go, but he's cramping my style. I don’t need his disappointed puppy dog looks, making me feel like shit when I bring tricks home. That's what I mean about guilting. I shouldn't feel guilty. It’s not as if we’re together or anything.  
  
He’s lucky I like fucking him. All right, I _love_ fucking him. The kid is a goddamn sponge. He soaks up everything I show him, everything I do to him, no matter how raunchy. When it comes to sex, he's all for it.  
  
I’ll admit that part of Justin worries me. His openness, which is more than okay with me because I reap the benefits, will get him into trouble when he leaves. And he _will_ leave, make no mistake about it. Then some smart ass fucker will see through his brave facade and take advantage of what's underneath—naïveté and innocence.   
  
But there’s also a shrewd and calculating side that knows exactly what he’s doing and why he’s doing it. Like tonight. I was at the bar when Mr. Hot Stuff slithered up behind him. Not that I give a fuck. He's free to do whatever he wants, whoever he wants. But I saw his familiar look of arousal, the one only I'm supposed to see, and I was ready to go.  
  
Besides, I was bored. The three musketeers were conspicuously absent and no one was worth my time. I decided to speed matters along since my dancing queen showed no sign of wanting to go home. I mean back to the loft, _my_ loft.   
  
What's interesting—conniving—is that he didn’t put up a fight when I grabbed his arm and told him we were leaving, didn’t show any surprise other than a slight widening of his baby blues, didn’t register any emotion other than a cocky smirk, the one that surfaces when he thinks he put one over on me.   
  
But the real clincher? The manipulative kid had a bulge in his jeans that seemed to acquire an air pump all its own. And it had nothing to do with his random ‘dance partner.’ It wasn’t the first time I noticed, either. The little shit got off on it, on the possessiveness, on the _control._  
  
Hmm, I have to think about this. There might be some kinkiness in Sunshine we haven’t fully explored yet.  
  
              _“You make me show what I’m trying to conceal._ _If I trust in you, would you feel the same way, too?_ _”_ _©Andersson.Ulvaeous_

 

_FINI_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                             
                                                                                          


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